Fanged by Circumstance [Part 2]

The moment Izel exits the train, nearly empty as his stop is one of the last of the train’s hourly route. Izel is met with one of Nuevo Eztli’s most notorious constructs. He’ll often admire the massive creation before returning home, as if an out of place blessing for it. Scraping the sky at 500 meters exactly, strategically located at the edge of the city in the East. Cleverly blending into the background of the distant mountains in the east, as if it is hidden in the shadows of the city itself. Perfect realization of the Brutalist visionary in architecture. The constant bleak aroma of concrete, in such a clear industrial gray, easily replicable in mass, and dull in the most beautiful way. All for the purpose to propel the city’s population.

A minor grace of justice for those with little. Many organizations and policies have constructed these densely packed, banal towers for a modest income. A place they can call home. A cold, heartless home: A home nonetheless. Each and every room is built exactly the same for every homeowner, with enough space to house a family of four along with a decade of storage. Another construction of safety and stability: Not one major incident involving the tower’s design has ever failed, again at the cost of some security. Every room is thankfully outfitted with some of the best security locks, however, the biggest issue that runs rampant in this stretch of land are the petty crimes with little justice, seemingly unavoidable no matter the actions taken. With all of these elements of misfortune, these towers quickly earned the apt moniker by civil critics and the like—Penurious Obelisk—To think that such an artful cityscape can still house a massive number of impoverished people, is almost artful in its own right.

With a fast sigh, Izel continued onward. Thankful that he does not have to live in those towers of poverty. Moving onward to his routine home, things unsurprisingly look little to no different to the privileged eye. Comfortably situated in some would consider a rural area, however, in these times the idea of what is understated as an archaic view of farmlands and forestry is replaced with farms that extend to the sky and forest of enigmatic technology. From the harsh cyans to the meaningful crimsons, every corner of this area has endless possibilities that anyone can indulge in. Taking strategic movements as Izel maneuvers his way through this Barrio of Nuevo Eztli. As this to Izel, this is much more preferable than the struggles that transpire around the Penurious Obelisks. The worst aspect he must endure are the eager sales people, eventually failing to rid themselves of a poor product or service, or the occasional techno addict.

Finally arriving at something much more delightfully recognizable for Izel: A neighborhood. Just at the edge of town with a view of his home—Red Underwood. The name of one of the few urban neighborhoods that were at first a promising Bungalow district for new citizens of Nuevo Eztli, but eventually transformed into refuge for the underprivileged. Just as the other nearby neighborhoods did. Another short sight of the incredibly ambitious city, failing to see that the grandeur of prosperity will attract an abundance of souls, and if not prepared, failures are inevitable. Nonetheless, this broken mirror of the central city is known to Izel as home, and that will never change.

“Pops? You home?” Izel announced entering his home. Immediately struck with the welcoming aroma of familial cooking.

“Izzy! I’m in the kitchen, how was school?” Replying to Izel is his father, Tlacaelel Itzcoatl, who is tasting a bit of his well crafted meal for himself and Izel.

“Same old, same old, I guess.” Izel answered to quickly smell the scents as he entered the kitchen.

“Same stuff, huh? When do you think they’ll teach you anything—” Tlacaelel paused. “DIfferent.” He finished, smiling at the light bruises he noticed on Izel’s face.

“Well, they-they say that it will be some kind of preparation for future classes.” Izel slowly explained, stuttering slightly because his father didn’t mention his obviously new bruises.

“Humm, I guess that makes some sense to a degree.” Tlacaelel remarked, preparing some food for supper. “They probably want to be sure that everyone is on the same page.” He then mentioned.

“Yeah, but don’t you think that it's wasting time?” Izel reasoned, setting up the dinner table for the two.

“Just because you see it as time consuming, doesn't make it time consuming.” Tlacaelel proposed, adding a quick wink at the end, recognizing that he must have gotten into a fight.

“But-!” Izel quickly spoke, but his father knew he’d object.

“Listen Izzy.” Tlacaelel asked over Izel. “I get it… It's your first year at a big school! You want to get to the top as fast as possible, but these things will take time… Just like this meal.” He placed the warm food on the table. “Every ingredient is great on its own, but when mixed together in a respectful way. You get something masterful.” He expounded, sitting down at the table. “From growing it, to crafting this meal and seasoning. These things take time, son.” He smiled.

“Right, slow and steady.” Izel mentioned, with a small smile.

“And don’t forget who’s paying for it, not to mention the blessings of your mom's genius.” Tlacaelel remarked, pouring his favorite beverage.

“You know I also pay!” Izel quickly mentioned, but then didn’t follow with another rebuttal. As he saw that his father was ready to begin their dinner by showing Izel a small simper with one eye open directly at him.

Tlacaelel and Izel—father and son, closed their eyes fully, along with their own hands clasped together, arched to their mouths. Not a prayer, not a grace, or an amen. A calm, silent moment of respect, and absolute tranquility. Commemorating those who sacrifice for the hope of others. The most affectionate, personal tradition that the two experience together each meal that they share. A heartwarming declaration of love, for one another and those that love them.

“You mean your side hustle right? With that Papua character.” Once they completed their moment, Tlacaelel remarked with a grin mockingly, but still supportive. “You haven't mentioned anything lately.” He then asked, readying his silverware.

“Yeah, my guy has been light on optical transistors, and minerals. I plan on seeing him today.” Izel mentioned preparing his plate of food.

“Oh, before you dig in, I just can’t help but mention.” Tlacaelel announced, as Izel lowered his silverware in mildly annoyed anticipation.

“Just be careful around people like that, I know things have been pretty chill so far.” Tlacaelel explained. “And the other thing to remember, sometimes the smartest movements are knowing when not to swing.” He then lightly lectured.

“Anything else?” Izel snickered, understanding that he must wait and respectfully listen to every ounce of advice that his father wants to mention.

“Nope—Let’s dig in!” Tlacaelel happily cheered, gathering the flavorful food to his plate.

The two began to eat the comforting meal. Discussing their thoughts and opinions on the latest drafts of sport’s team; major and minor, national and local. Sharing a common interest that the two can happily indulge in for hours. Since it has always been the two of them, eating the meals themselves never lasted long. Most of the time at the table was the continuations of the conversations as they ate. Happily conversing with one another in harmony, and the occasional heated debate.

“Okay, Pops, I want to hit up Paire’s place before it gets dark.” Izel announced storing the remaining dishes away.

“Heard, and just shoot me a text if you need me.” Tlacaelel mentioned, as he relaxed on the living room couch.

“Heard—See ya later.” Izel mirrored, as his father waved to him.